Presence
by TitanTipTop
Summary: She had lost everything in her life, her money, her family, her job. And starting over in a new city is easier said than done. While battling insomnia and the general woes of her day job as a doctor, Rose comes across Bucky Barnes. And he is experiencing even more pain than she is. Somehow she seems drawn to him. And maybe it's because neither of them have anything left.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Lately, I hadn't really been able to catch a break.

After the hospital I was working at shut down, I got a call from my stepmother in DC.

And it was terminal.

She was my last close relative, seeing her go broke me.

My mother had left my father before I was two, leaving us both in a difficult financial situation I could never understand growing up. My father tried so hard to keep our lives together without her, I typically hardly noticed the situation at all. I only started to realize when I noticed that all of my school supplies were used donations made to the school, and that he would never let me grocery shop with him because he was heading to the food pantry.

My step mother helped though, they were married by the time I was 12. The next two years were some of the best in my life. We were like a normal family, and with two incomes we could do normal things. Like go out to eat, and do fun things on the weekend.

My father passed when I was 14, nearly 15. A freak car accident that broke both my step mother and I.

We made the best of it, and we were a wonderful, little family for quite a while.

She watched me go to college, and then medical school, all on scholarships and loans of course. But I finally became the doctor I wanted to be.

My step mother, Karyn, had gotten herself involved in politics in the recent years. It was good for her, she could do both of the things she loved the most; travel around the country and argue about something she was passionate about. She was only visiting DC to go to a conference when she got sick enough to be sent to the hospital suddenly. It quickly became too dangerous to bring her back to Chicago. And within a month of me losing my job, and a week of me getting to DC, she passed in her sleep.

My whole life had slowly unraveled for the last 26 years, and completely fell apart in the last month.

I couldn't really find a reason to return to Chicago.

I got in touch with an old college friend and crashed in their apartment until I found a new job at a new hospital. And finally, a new apartment.

It wasn't much, and I didn't have much, but I was still better than what I started out with. I was living out of just a suitcase for so long I forgot that I would eventually have to buy more clothes, and furniture. Coincidentally, my one bedroom apartment was furnished with mismatched and cheap furniture, nothing I would be proud to show friends. It was a good thing I had so few.

I had just stopped to get coffee, It wasn't I use to do, but the insomnia had been getting so bad that I couldn't really function without it. That's when I saw it on tv; A helicarrier- whatever the hell that was- had crashed into the Triskelion building, there are expected casualties, and every hospital in the city was gearing up to take in the injured. Evacuations were done, but the damage was so severe it was unknown as to how helpful they were.

That would include mine as well, The Georgetown university hospital. I skipped out of line for the coffee and caught a cab straight to work, knowing I would regret the lack of caffeine later. But chaos would be in full force at the hospital, and I needed to be there to help.

Almost immediately upon arrival, I was instructed by my frantic manager to join some of the other doctors visiting the building for on site medical care for the injured.

I joined 4 other doctors in an ambulance, and left the hospital within 5 minutes of getting there.

One of them cried. The mascara she had put on this morning with effort and care was streaming down her face as she tried to conceal the pain that her makeup could not. She cried silently, her shoulders shaking every few minutes when she attempted to catch her break, but ultimately she was still the majority of the ride. She just stared into the area next to my feet as I stared at her.

No one wanted to ask.

"Is everything okay?" I finally said. The gaze of the two other doctors, both men I had never met before, snap to me, but both the other woman and I stayed firm.

They had been sitting uncomfortably, wringing their hands, coughing occasionally, and looking anywhere but her. Her emotion made them so uneasy that they could even bring themselves to look at her, let alone talk to her. They see blood and gore every day, but the moment they see tears, they can't bare to witness.

It took her a moment to look up at me, her eyes slowly shifted up, until her blue eyes mirrored mine. They were red around the edges, and only starting to get swollen.

"Yes?" Her voice wavered, breaking off at the end so the word wasn't quite complete. Her lip quivered.

I felt my body sway with the turn of the ambulance, I debated my next words.

Maybe it was because we all felt emotions to be a weakness, a fatal flaw in all things human that can't be fixed. When we are shot or stabbed, there are stitches and procedures, there are answers and medicine. We get pushed down, and we stand back up- physically. But so many people are told to stop crying and to get over it that we only see emotion as an inconvenience, something that just gets in the way when we have to be adults. We must be the bigger and stronger person. Emotions only interfere with the job, make us unstable.

"It's alright, you know," I told her, letting her absorb the words for a moment before continuing, "you can cry, It's okay."

She nodded, pressing her lips together and squeezing her eyes shut. There was a long pause of silence before she opened her mouth wide, breathing in air that she had been missing the whole ride, and out a single sob. She pressed her face into her hands.

Her body and voice shook, "My husband works there."

"It's okay to cry," I repeated, but we had arrived.

Once the doors were thrown open we really knew the extent to the chaos. Our first task was to find out where the other doctors had set up and get integrated into the system they set up. This wasn't hard to do when the system was just to put the critically wounded that we found on an ambulance and treat the less serious injuries on site.

But there were just so many people, some were more seriously mentally injured from the experience than physically, but others wouldn't even make the ambulance ride to the nearest hospital.

Luckily the latter were fewer.

But it was still hard, to just stitch people up and tell them to go home, tell them to go about their normal day even though they just experienced a freak accident. Most people's faces were just blank as they pulled out cell phones or walked to where they hoped their car would still be.

I started losing count of the people, and the injuries. And when they stopped seeking us, we started seeking them.

Another doctor and I wandered about the area in search for lost and injured people who didn't know where to go. I encountered a few confused office workers and even a man with blood pouring down the side of his head that insisted on driving himself home. But I found the most concerning person when I started wandering just a bit too far.

I wasn't even sure why I was still walking. At some point I was so far away that no one injured was around, I was starting to see more healthy people than hurt. And then no people at all, I wasn't even on a street any more, just some park. But I just kept walking, it felt like I was put on autopilot. I didn't want to turn around and face the reality of the situation any more, I didn't want to see the blood of the injured or the red faces of those who lost. I just didn't want feel it any more.

I noticed him in the direction I was heading in, just a bit in the distance. I had to pick up speed to even come close to catching up.

He was big, bigger than me and I thought I was tall. Muscular and clad in ripped up clothes with cuts along his face. More like cuts that we commonly saw in fights, bruising from punches. There was metal covering the whole of his left arm, like some armour that I had never seen before.

He was facing away, so he didn't see me approach, but I could tell he heard. He tensed and slowed, and so did I.

We walked at the same pace for a few steps before he turned around and let me catch up.

"Are you injured? Do you need medical attention?" I asked. He just stood, like a statue not reacting. I took a second to study him while I waited, his scraggly brown hair was wet and sticking to his face, he looked like he needed to shave. He just looked tired, the area under his eyes were occupied by deep bags and his eye brown were pull down.

I suppose we both looked like we had been through hell in that moment.

"We have doctors back closer to the building, we can help you out with those cuts and," I stopped talking when he started reaching towards me, and specifically my neck.

I tried to back away and push at his hand, but he was too fast and too strong.

A hand wrapped around my elbow, and cold metal pressed down on my neck.

And I was out in seconds.

In hindsight, it wasn't too hard to be too fast or too strong for me. I don't sleep, and I don't know if I even eat half the time. I just forget. That hardly allows you to build up strength to fend off an attacker.

So, waking up in the middle of the park in the dark wasn't all too shocking. I could have just passed out from exhaustion and I wouldn't have known the difference. He could have been a hallucination and I wouldn't have known the difference.

The only reason I knew he was real were the five fingerprint bruises mapped across my neck that I could see in the mirror. Maybe that's why the taxi driver looked like he felt bad for me. He still didn't say anything though.

But either way, the next day started the same as the last; getting out of bed with little to no sleep and leaving the apartment for work. Though I did add the extra step of applying makeup to my neck to hopefully cover the bruising.

Once I left the apartment, it was directly to the same coffee shop as the day before, hopefully to carry through with the plans this time.

Today, the news was focused on the aftermath and the coping of yesterday's events. They replayed interviews with witnesses and family members of the injured. They had started to discuss blame to the incident, but I didn't care enough to really stick around. I headed out, this time with a coffee in hand, and walked to work; without a real emergency present I could show up at my normal time, so I didn't need a taxi.

In fact, I was early and slightly ahead of schedule, so I decided to take the long way to work. I walked around blocks I had never been on before and glanced into shops I would never need to go to. Along with the new route, came new people. Being in the city, I saw new faces I didn't recognize on the daily. On my usual route I would see a few people regularly, we just happened to have the same route to work, but on the new route I recognize no one.

I casually people watched on the walk, noting specifically the people that didn't want to be seen. Mainly because I was one of them; I walked fast, and stayed on the edge of the crowds with my head down. I didn't wear flashy or noticeable clothing. I just didn't want people to see me. So, I looked for people who felt the same, and tried to figure- with one glance- why they felt this way. I never really could.

That's when I saw him again; the same man who knocked me out yesterday, who gave me bruises on my neck. I knew it was him, I could never forget that face, I studied it in the moment when I was standing in front of him. And seeing it again made me more terrified than I ever had been.

But I walked towards him anyway, because he was just like the others; he was trying not to be seen.

He didn't look much different, just wearing a sweatshirt and jeans now, with the same scraggly hair and unshaven face as before.

I walked right up to him, blocking his path and forcing him to stop in front of me. My feet just walked without my brain, I knew it was dangerous but I didn't really care. He could kill me and I didn't really care.

Somehow I felt that he had to have recognized me, even though his facial expression didn't change. He did stop though, he didn't just continue and ignore me, so that had to mean something.

"Why'd you do that yesterday?" I questioned.

He justed looked around for a moment, keeping his head ducked down under his baseball cap. He looked back down at me, taking in my features before answering, "I don't know what you're talking about."

He tried to walk around me, but I moved to block his path, "Yes you do, and what was on your arm? Who are you?"

His eyes snapped up on my first question, and he bent down lower to get closer to me, "Look, you don't who I am, you're going to want to stay the hell away from me."

I looked down and waited, waiting for him to push around me, to leave.

But he didn't, he stood and waited for a response. He cared enough about what I had to say to wait for me.

"If you really thought that," I looked back up, "you would have left by now."

He didn't really seem to know what to say, he fidgeted with his hands and I took the opportunity to continue, " Can you tell me what your name is?"

With hesitation, he responded, "Bucky,"

"I'm Rosalia," I held out my right hand, and after a pause he shook it.

"So, why did you knock me out yesterday, Bucky?"

(A/N) Hi,

So i was just trying out a new writing style for myself and decided to write this, it was kind of a one sitting no edit thing for me, so sorry if there are any grammatical mistakes that I didn't catch. Please review and follow if you would be interested in seeing more of this, I know its just and intro sort of chapter and isn't too in depth but I had some plans for this character, I just need to know if any one is even interested.

But any way hope you enjoyed and thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

I was truly surprised when I found myself unlocking the door to my apartment and entering without going to work that day, Bucky following closely behind. But when he let go that he didn't have anywhere to stay or any money, I felt obligated. The fact that it was such a risky decision past through my mind, but I didn't pay much attention to it.

My manager had told me to take as much time as I needed when I called to say I was going to take a personal day to recover after witnessing the horrors of the day before. Truthfully, they already felt like a distant memory.

So here we were, me and bucky standing awkwardly in my one bedroom apartment, unsure of what we should say to each other. He walked around the room for a moment, peaking into both the kitchen and bedroom, like he was checking for other people. Once he decided the area was properly secure, he came back over to meet me.

I moved over to the couch, pushing the pillows over and reaching for the blanket that was resting on the other chair.

"So, you can sleep here later tonight," I paused, looking at bucky's large frame and back to my mediocre couch, "I- I think it should be a pull out," I moved up the cushions to find that I was completely wrong, "Actually you should just sleep in my bed later, you'll fit on that. I don't really sleep much anyway."

He didn't say anything in response, he hadn't been responding much in general, that's why it was so shocking when he agreed to let me give him a place to stay.

He had said that he didn't know where he was sleeping, or getting food, or getting any more clothing. I just felt guilty, that I had even the least bit of luxury and I was busy spending my time feeling sorry for myself.

WIthout reacting much to my words, Bucky looked down at his left hand, the one that was covered in metal- something else he hadn't explained- and opened and closed it a few times. It moved slowly, like it was injured. He stayed like that, seemingly like he was debating on what to say next.

He didn't look up when he spoke, "Could you take me somewhere?"

I blinked a few times to take in his request, "What? Where?"

Bucky didn't say anything, just dug into his pocket and pulled out a flier. When he handed it to me, I read the words over the top, "New Captain America Exhibit Opening In the Smithsonian."

"You want to see the Captain America exhibit?" I questioned, he only nodded in response.

I couldn't see a reason not to take Bucky there, but I also couldn't see why he wanted to go. There wasn't anything there for him, it didn't really seem like there was anything anywhere for him. Especially if he was in my apartment.

"Okay, um, yeah let's get a cab."

We left the apartment, and he was silent the whole way there, and I was too nervous to ask any questions. He hadn't offered me any explanation in our short time spent together. He didn't seem interested in me at all, he hadn't asked a single question about me. Like he could care less whose apartment he was staying in. He didn't really seem to care about anything to be honest.

Once we got to the museum and the exhibit, Bucky walked away from me, like he forgot I was even there. But I let him go, he suddenly held such an interest in what was going on around him, inspecting each part of the exhibit with a hard gaze and reading every word. He stopped at a large display for one man in particular. There was nothing special with this display, as far as I could see, but if my memory served correct, he was Captain America's child hood friend that died in battle. But Bucky wasn't moving away, even long after he would have finished reading the short biography.

I decided it was a good time as any to approach him. I stood right behind him and asked, "Why did you want to come here, Bucky?"

There was a moment of silence before he opened his mouth, keeping his voice low, "That's me."

I didn't process what he said. He couldn't be that guy. That guy died over 50 years ago. I looked at the display and read the name "James Buchanan 'Bucky' Barnes." I looked at his face, he was thinner, not as built, and cleaner. Different hair style, but they looked identical.

But there was a birth date and an end date, he died. It was impossible.

My breath caught in my throat as I tried to process what he said.

"What?" managed to get out, "You're related to that guy or..?"

He shook his head and, quieter this time, said, "That is me."

His voice was so firm that it shook me. I looked back and forth from the cut out to him, but Bucky gave me a hard look to tell me to stop.

All logic in my head was telling me that he was lying, that is was impossible. We don't live in a fantasy world where people get to come back to life. I knew this. I lived this fact. You could wish and pray as much as you want, but they'll never come back to life.

But, my eyes were telling me something different. They were telling me that the probability of Bucky looking exactly like that man was slim to none. That Bucky was injured and desperate, but he had no reason to tell me a lie like this, to premeditate to bring a stranger to this museum and exhibit to lie to them about who they were.

"How?"

Bucky looked down, his teeth clenched and his jaw shifted.

"That's a long story," was all he offered.

Before I had the chance to respond, he turned and headed for the exit, leaving without waiting for me and pulling his hood low.

"Bucky-" I called, "you have to wait, you don't know how to get back to my apartment."

The cab ride back was completely silent, it seemed to be Bucky's preferred state. And I wasn't one to start casual conversation, especially with the man that just told me that he was about 100 years old and didn't actually die in the second world war. I wanted to know everything, just out of sheer curiosity and the fact that this was the most interesting thing to happen to me in so long. But I was also afraid of the answers he may give.

Once we made it back to my apartment Bucky started speaking again, "You're a doctor, right?"

I nodded my head while letting Bucky in and walking over to the kitchen to put my bag down.

He hesitated, as there was a pause before he said, "I might need you to look at something,"

He sat on the edge of the couch, looking as if he was too nervous to let himself sit comfortably.

"Well, it depends on what it is, I can probably help you with it here if it's not too severe, " He nodded but didn't respond, "Can I see?"

I knelt down in front of him and he pulled his sweatshirt off without hesitation, but then refused to meet my eyes.

But I couldn't pull my eyes away.

The metal wasn't armour; it was fused into his skin. It _was_ his arm. The tissue of his shoulder scared where it met metal, jagged and uneven lines danced across his skin. And they weren't the only scars he had; he was covered in them. From bullet holes or stab wounds or burns, they were on his chest, abdomen, and right arm. He looked like he went through hell and back.

Without thinking, I reached forward and ran my fingers along the raised line where his arm met his body. It felt like any other scar, but the metal on the other side was cold.

"My _other_ arm," I jumped when Bucky spoke, but his eyes were still looking forward at my wall. It was almost like he was embarrassed or ashamed.

"Right, of course," I managed to take my eyes away to look over to his right arm, it was bruised all around his elbow, dark and purple. His hand had cuts and scrapes covering it, including on his knuckles like he had been in a fight.

I gently took his arm in my hands, and felt around the bruising, pushing into his skin.

"It seems like you broke it, but it's healed for a while on its own. It's doing okay, just keep it in a sling for a bit and maybe ice it for pain, but you don't need a cast or anything," I paused, "How long have you been walking around with it like this? When did this happen?"

"Yesterday,"

I stopped, my hands froze.

Yesterday was impossible, this had to have been healing for a while. There's no way he healed that fast.

"A-and, I can just clean and bandage your hand, make sure nothing gets infected." He nodded, bringing his eyes to meet mine, "Just let me go grab my first aid kit."

He stayed still on the couch while I grabbed everything I needed and returned.

I held his hand again after I unscrewed the peroxide, "This may sting a little," He squirmed a little when I poured it on, but otherwise didn't let me know he was in pain, "Okay, that's the worst of it," I carefully wrapped the bandage around the worst of the cuts, then turned my attention back to his elbow.

"Okay, so just wear this," I pulled out the sling that I had kept for my apartment, "And we can just keep checking back on it. We'll just decide when you can stop wearing it."

I helped him into the sling, and he looked up at me once I was done, "Thank you."

I nodded, "It's kind of my job."

I started gathering up all of my things, "I'll go and, uh, buy you some shirts from the store so you have something to wear. Should I just assume you're a large?"

He nodded in approval, "Okay, you can just, uh, keep yourself busy. I have books in my room and the tv works sometimes. I'll be back in a bit."

It felt weird leaving someone I met just a day ago in my apartment, and it felt even weirder given the circumstances. And now I needed to go buy him clothes because he doesn't even have that. He still hadn't given any explanation on anything: no the arm or the fact that he's 100 years old or all of the scars. He hadn't told me anything.

Finding tee shirts was easy enough, but the right size was more difficult. He was so built that I had a difficult time believing that he would fit. Eventually, I found a few shirts, all plain tee shirts of different colors, and a few pairs of pants that may fit if I'm lucky.

But when I opened the door to my apartment, I didn't see him. The TV wasn't on, he wasn't in the kitchen.

"Bucky?" I dropped the bags of clothes and rushed into my room, feeling the surge of anxiety when I thought he may have run off. I shouldn't have felt this way, considering I just met him, but I felt that Bucky needed someone and I was willing to be that person. I thought it would be dangerous for him to be running around on his own in the city.

When I opened the door I saw him, sitting on the floor next to my bookshelf with my copy of an old "The Boxcar Children" book.

"I read these when I was a kid." He stated, for a moment he didn't look up. He was sucked into to book, completely pulled into the past. He suddenly looked back up, pushing himself off the floor and putting the book back in its place on my bookshelf, "Sorry."  
I shook my head, "It's fine. My dad use to read them to me when I was a kid too," there was an awkward pause of silence before I remembered the shirts, "I got you clothes. They're just over here if you want to maybe shower and change?"

Bucky let me run over to grab the bag and show him where the bathroom was, "I don't have any men's products or anything," I started unwrapping his hand and helping him out of the sling, "So you'll just have to deal with mine, but it all works the same. I can rewrap that once your done."

I tried to keep my eyes on his hand and not look over to his other arm, but it was so entrancing. I had general curiosity over it, but also the curiosity of a doctor. I knew that prosthetics like this weren't mass market, they weren't even under development. This wasn't anything medical, it couldn't have been. The only other option I could think of was military. Bucky Barnes had been in the military, and Steve Rogers was a super soldier, so who's to say that this wasn't a weaponized science project. That is, if he is the Bucky Barnes he's been saying he is.

Once he was in the shower I took the chance to grab my laptop and type his name into google.

I didn't find an overwhelming amount of information, mainly that he was childhood friends of Steve Rogers and they both attempted to join the army, but only bucky was taken. After Steve became Captain America, Bucky died during a mission, falling off a train and into the mountains below it. Technically, they never found his body, so he was considered MIA.

I searched more on Steve Rogers, looking at news articles from when he was taken out of the ice.

Maybe a similar thing happened to Bucky, but as far as I could see he wasn't a super soldier, at least not at the time.

He was taking a long time to get out of the shower, so I went over and changed the sheets on my bed for him, assuming he would want to go to sleep pretty soon.

It took him about an hour to finally step out of the shower, dressed in a new black shirt and pair of sweatpants.

He looked a lot better now that he was clean with his hair pushed out of his face. I finished bandaging his hand up again and pulled him over to my bed room.

"You can sleep in here, I put new sheets-"

He cut me off, with a raised voice and stern tone, "You sleep here, I can stay on the couch,"

The room felt even quieter after the volume of his voice dissipated, and I flinched and felt my heartbeat quicken, I realized again very quickly how dangerous Bucky was. He was strong, obviously stronger than me, even without factoring in the arm, and I knew next to nothing that was certain about him. He could kill me. In a heartbeat.

He noticed my discomfort and let out a deep breath, running his metal hand through his hair, presumably trying to show that he was keeping his temper under control.

"I-I don't really sleep much, it's not a big deal. Besides, you won't even fit on the couch, and you look like you haven't gotten rest in a while."

He looked like he was debating in his head: both wanting and not wanting the bed. But after that small outburst, he finally nodded, "For tonight,"

I smiled, "Good night, then." I turned to leave and closed the door behind me.

My laptop was still waiting on the couch, and starting pulling medical and science journals focused on prosthetic technology.

I found some simple bionic hands that were in research, but nothing to the extent that Bucky had. His was fully functional and obviously connected to his brain, most of these were hardly fully developed.

I realized that I had been searching for hours when my laptop notified me of low battery, but the charger was in my room where Bucky was sleeping. I closed my laptop and decided getting some actual sleep would be good for me for once, even if it was only for a few hours.

While I was setting up pillows and a blanket on the couch I heard my bedroom door open.

His footsteps were too quiet to notice him walk into the room, but I turned around just to be safe.

He looked even more tired than he did before; his hair was messy and disheveled now that it had dried and his eyes had a red rings surrounding them. He just stood by the wall, like he wasn't even sure why he had come out in the first place.

"You're up?" I offered, hoping that he would say something just to fill the silence at least.

"Yeah, I wanted water."

I went over to the kitchen, pulling out a glass and getting water for him.

He gave me a silent thank you when he took it and started drinking.

I kept my voice quiet, "So, can you tell me anything, the arm, how you're Bucky Barnes, anything?"

Bucky put the glass on the counter and leaned into it. He closed his eyes tight for a moment, like he was trying not to think about it.

"They took me when I fell, I lost my arm and they put this on, " His voice was low and he still wasn't opening his eyes, "They did something to me, I don't know what. But they changed me, and put me in some tube and froze me. Like a piece of meat. They made me forget everything. They called me the Winter Soldier, they made me kill people, kept telling me I was part of the new world order, that I was doing work for mankind. But I saw Steve. I knew him," His hands clenched around the edge of the counter behind him, and the metal hand took off a chunk, making it crumble into pieces on the ground, "I knew him, he wouldn't fight me."

The entire time he spoke, my breath was caught.

He was some sort of agent, assassin. Just a killing machine that didn't have a real identity.

And he was standing in my kitchen drinking a glass of water. Sleeping in my bed.

But I could tell he didn't choose that, 'they' forced him. If he did choose, he wouldn't even be in my apartment, he'd be back to the people who made him like this, or out finishing the mission. As far as I knew, Captain America was still alive, and if that was his mission, he didn't complete it.

Bucky opened his eyes and realized what he did to the counter. He pulled his metal hand up and shook the splinters from the counter off, "I don't even know who I really am."

I wasn't really sure how to comfort him, I had always felt awkward when I needed to comfort other people, and this was such a specific situation.

I decided the best I could do was to place my hand over his, "Look, if you say that wasn't you, it wasn't you. They forced you to do all of those things. It's okay, it'll just take time to recover. You should get rest in the meantime."

He nodded, though he looked like he didn't quite believe me.

"Thank you, Rosalia."

"Rose works." I offered.

Bucky nodded, "And," he paused, "Is it okay I I leave the door open? I just like hearing…"  
He didn't seem willing offer much explanation, but I didn't feel the need to force him, so I said it was fine.

So he retreated back into the bedroom, leaving the door open, and climbing back into bed.

With him settled in again, I crawled into the couch, but found it hard to close my eyes with the information he gave me still swirling around in my head.

They must have brainwashed him or something, maybe wiped his memories. But if he remembered his friend Steve and remembered the book he was reading, he must still be there somewhere.

It would just take a lot of effort for Bucky to find his way out.

(A/N)

Thanks for reading, again feedback is welcome. Also, just so everyone is aware- I have not see the third cap movie yet. I'm going to keep writing until I get to a point where I feel like I need to have seen that movie, but for now its not exactly available for me to watch, so I have no choice but to wait. I may come back and edit chapters once I see it and get more information, but it's hard to decide on that now. So, for now I hope you enjoyed and thanks for reading!


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